


Tumblr Rescues

by CorvidFightClub



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A lot of sex, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, M/M, PWP, handjobs, somewhere in there is a marriage proposal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 19:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20512274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorvidFightClub/pseuds/CorvidFightClub
Summary: A compilation of drabbles pulled off my Tumblr.





	1. Come Down

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty sure this first one was @robocryptid's fault. I forget what the prompt was.

McCree walked stiffly from the hotel bathroom, favoring his knee, and collapsed next to Hanzo on the bed with a grunt, a towel the only thing between him and the air conditioning. “Damnation,” he muttered. He hadn’t hurt this much since the days training with Reyes.Three firefights in a row, two days of stake-out on hot roofs in [MEXICAN TOWN], then another two days playing cat and mouse with Los Muertos. But they got the intel, took out the gang’s first and second and left the rest scattered. Not the cleanest mission but not too shabby neither. 

Hanzo opened one dark eye. “Hell does not have air conditioning,” he said. 

“Darlin’, if Satan himself told me his asshole had Central Air I’d crawl right up it, no question.”

“Hm. Then you would be a literal pain in the ass.”

“Not if he had the foresight to prep himself.” McCree grinned. “Ain’t my fault I been blessed with a fine Johnson. Could win a county fair if I had the mind to--”

Hanzo pressed the heel of his hand over McCree’s mouth, fingertips on his brow. “Enough, cowman.” 

McCree gripped Hanzo’s wrist. Kissed his palm. “You love it.”

“Bold of you to assume,” Hanzo grumbled.

“Hey now.” McCree slid closer, kissed Hanzo’s lips. “Don’t grump at me. Weren’t my fault you fell off a building.”

“Thrown,” Hanzo corrected with a glare. 

Sometimes McCree knew when to pick his fights. “Right. My mistake, darlin’.” Either way, the heavy responsible was a corpse on a tin roof now. McCree had seen to that. He pressed a kiss to the dip of Hanzo’s neck and shoulder, then his chest, lightly over his bandaged ribs and the bruising. 

Hanzo’s voice rumbled above him like a storm over sagebrush, “Don’t start what you can’t finish, cowman.”

McCree slipped his hand into Hanzo’s underwear and cupped him, warm and familiar, as was the hitch in Hanzo’s breath. “Have I ever let you go without finishin’ you off?”

Sliding a hand into McCree’s hair, Hanzo sighed out, “There’s always a first time.”

Getting a grip on his dick, McCree started a steady rhythm with his hand, twisting around the head, squeezing at the root. “What if I let you fuck me stupid into this here mattress?”

The heat in Hanzo’s eyes had McCree tenting his pants in record time. Hanzo was pushing himself up to take advantage of that, then hissed through his teeth and laid back. He pressed a hand to the bandages on his side. “Give me a little time and perhaps--”

“Shit, forgot,” McCree apologized. He kissed Hanzo’s hip, slowing his strokes on Hanzo’s dick.

Thoughtful look on his face, Hanzo tilted one knee out and down towards the mattress, opening his legs up. “I would be willing to…”

McCree went light-headed at the sight, sure there was no blood left in anything in his dick, not after Hanzo offering him that. It wasn’t a thing Hanzo went for often, and when he did, he wanted it rough. McCree licked his lips, eying the bandages wrapping Hanzo’s ribs. Too rough for when he was hurt. 

Scratching his head, McCree said, “I don’t wanna put weight on ya, darlin’. Ain’t good for your injury.”

“What do you propose, then?”

McCree had to close his eyes to get some semblance of brain cells back. Seeing Hanzo laid out like that wasn’t helping. Licking his lips, McCree tugged down Hanzo’s briefs and made himself comfortable between Hanzo’s thighs. “Oh I got some ideas,” he said, then took Hanzo’s cock in his mouth all the way down till his throat tried to gag. 

Hanzo was gripping at McCree’s hair, his arm, anything he could hold on to while his hips bucked up but McCree’s weight held him flat. McCree kept his mouth where it was and chaffed the underside of Hanzo’s cock with his tongue, pressed it up against his palate, drinking up the low sounds Hanzo made. The taste of precome gathered in his mouth. He pulled back till just the head was past his lips and sucked hard. McCree eased up that time, let Hanzo fuck up into his mouth while he ground his own hips into the mattress. 

Sneaking a hand under Hanzo, McCree pressed his thumb against Hanzo’s asshole and rubbed in hard circles until Hanzo came with a sharp gasp, spilling hot in his mouth and down his throat. McCree kept sucking gently and stroked Hanzo’s heaving stomach until Hanzo had come down enough to scratch his short nails against McCree’s scalp. Letting Hanzo’s cock go with a wet sound, McCree went up on his knees and straddled Hanzo’s hips, dick throbbing in his hand as he stroked himself. He came suddenly all over his own stomach and Hanzo’s chest and rubbed his cock in the mess as orgasm shuddered out of him.

END


	2. Unintended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 80% of pet ownership is saying "WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN YOUR MOUTH".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for another prompt. Do I remember? Nope.

Hanzo was finishing wiping down the bathroom mirror when he heard the squeak-hiss of the dragons fighting in the bedroom. He leaned past the threshold, watching them falling off the edge of the bed, then careen around it, pouncing and snapping at each other. One tried tucking themselves into the toe of Jesse’s worn slippers, all annoyed coils and irritated hisses. Nonplussed, the other circled around in the other direction. Pounced. 

Crossing his arms, Hanzo watched them lope under the bed frame to continue the chase. Jesse was absent, taking care of the laundry, or he’d insist on splitting them up. Hanzo rolled his eyes at the thought. Two spirits bound to each other for eternity were allowed their spats. 

There was a thump and the nightstand jolted away from the bedside. A yowl followed. 

So long as the disagreements were kept small-scale. 

Hanzo went back to cleaning the bathroom. He kept an ear cocked in the direction of the quarreling in case he needed to intercede on behalf of the furniture. The angry sounds tapered off in favor of rustling, crackling. 

Sighing through his nose, he tossed his rag into the sink and called in Japanese, “What do you have?”

The noises continued as he walked into the bedroom. The closet door had been nosed open, a frilled blue tail covered in iridescent scales sticking out. Opening the door wider, Hanzo caught sight of the second dragon in a crate behind Jesse’s small collection of music records. Tilting the record folders up made the dragon burrow into a brown paper bag hidden behind them. 

“Jesse,” Hanzo chided. He picked up the paper bag, dragon and all. He’d broken Jesse of his messier habits, but trash still lingered on occasion. Hanzo pulled the dragon out of the bag and settled it on his shoulders, then crumpled the bag to throw it out when he found something small and solid in the bottom. Steeling himself for the worst, Hanzo reached a hand in.

A box. Small. Black. Nondescript. It opened easily. 

Inside nestled in velvet were two rings. One the color of sullen gold, the other blackened with a blue sheen. 

Hanzo realized he’d stopped breathing when his chest gave a sudden kick. The dragon on his shoulders was reaching forward with its snout as far as it could towards the opened box. He shooed the dragon absently off of him and onto the bed, still staring at the rings. He touched them both with his index finger. Simple but good quality, his brain supplied. Expertly shaped. He’d held all manner of precious metals before and assessed their value without a second thought. These gave him pause, the black band especially. As though holding them would devalue them. 

What would he say?

He could put the box back, hidden in its paper bag in the recesses of the closet, like a lethal secret. It would haunt him, set him on edge guessing when Jesse would produce that box, give him his sly coyote smile and ask--

Ancestors above, what would Hanzo say?

The door bumped open and Jesse entered, two bags of laundry over his shoulders. He chuckled as the dragons scrambled tried twining around his legs in greeting. “You little shits are gonna give me a concussion one’a these days.” He looked up, smiling, “Hey, dar--” Jesse’s expression sobered, seeing the box Hanzo held. He set the bags of laundry down, walked closer, earnest in his t-shirt and threadbare shorts, brown feet bare against the carpet. “I--ah.” Jesse cleared his throat. “Well, I guess the cat’s outta the bag now.”

“It is,” Hanzo agreed. 

Jesse took Hanzo’s hands in his, closing the box. “Don’t have to talk about it now,” Jesse murmured, stroking his thumb over Hanzo’s knuckles. He gave Hanzo a weak smile. “You’re lookin’ a little green around the edges.”

“I apologize,” Hanzo said, stiff to even his own ears. This had never been a scenario he’d been prepared for. In every relationship transaction, he’d been put in the role as the one who invited, who drove, who paid, who laid the first kiss. In time, he’d have been the one to offer a ring. Hanzo had prepared for that eventuality. 

And now this. 

“No, no, don’t be sorry, darlin’.” Jesse soothed. He took the box from Hanzo and slipped it back in the paper bag. “I was gonna wait a little longer. Didn’t want to move on you too fast.”

Three years was not fast. Not when it was three years of fighting together, losing and winning together. Jesse was retreating. Afraid he’d upset Hanzo with a surprised that was supposed to be a wonderful thing.

Move, damn you. 

Hanzo reached out, caught Jesse’s arm. “I want to talk about it now,” he rushed.

“You sure?”

“Now,” Hanzo panted. “Ask me now.” Before he thought too hard, before his heart climbed up his throat.

McCree took in a steadying breath. He took the box out again. “I know you’ll fight me about it, but Rzeznik said it best. You’re the closest to heaven I’m ever gettin’ and I want to keep you if you’ll be kept. So.” He opened the box, offering up the rings. “Would you do me the honor of keepin’ ya?”

Looking into Jesse’s hazel eyes, Hanzo said, “Yes.” Because nothing in his life had ever prepared him for Jesse. Not for his hands, his scarred lips pressing to Hanzo’s, his tall body, his warmth. Nothing needed to. They would lay their own path together, one stone at a time, intended or no.


	3. Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got nothin'.

McCree sipped at his coffee, waiting to one side while Hanzo tested his to make sure the barista made it right. Hanzo wasn’t the type to pay for something and not get what he wanted. Mouth still on the straw, Hanzo gave him the ‘ok’ hand like they were on a mission and they walked out into the autumn air. 

“Good?” McCree asked.

Hanzo let the straw fall from his mouth and stirred his drink. “Passable,” he answered. Hanzo pulled up the hood of his jacket as they walked down street. Even this far after Halloween, Boston was still bustling with folk out-of-doors, wrapped up in big coats and boots and scarves, headphones on and phones out. By McCree’s measure, they fit right in. Hanzo was harder to convince. Even out here in a neutral city on a long weekend, his dark eyes had the focused look of somebody donating half their brain power to monitoring their surroundings.

Getting Hanzo to take time off had been a challenge all its own. If he wasn’t on a mission, he was training. If he wasn’t training, he was in briefings. If he wasn’t in briefings, Hanzo was either eating, shitting, or sleeping, though McCree didn’t have solid evidence of those things happening on the regular, even after they’d starting adding sex to the mix. 

McCree got it. The constant need to move, always looking over your shoulder for the tail, for the person looking at you over their newspaper for too long. He’d had it a little different, though. McCree had the Midwest and the entire South to disappear into. Japan wasn’t even a fourth that big. 

“Nobody’s lookin’,” McCree said, elbow bumping Hanzo’s. “Take the hood off.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What if I did?”

“How would you?”

“Simple percents. How many people you pissed off over here?”

“None.”

“Alright, see? Ain’t nobody over here gonna look for you. To be fair, I pissed off a fair amount of folk, but they’re all west of the Mississippi and got their own problems to worry 'bout.”

“They could’ve intercepted our itinerary.”

McCree hummed and nodded, “Could be. That’s why there are three other itineraries. Paris, Tokyo, Los Angeles.” He smiled when Hanzo glanced at him from under his hood. “We’re busy men.”

They rounded a mall building and struck off down a side street lined with brownstones, apartments, and community gardens. It was mostly joggers here, the occasional person walking their dog. The trees were still dark with rain but the leaves were bright bursts of color. Not something you’d expect in the city. 

McCree threw out his cup in a trashcan and found Hanzo taking a picture of some still-blooming flower beds with his phone. “Genji will like them,” Hanzo said. Grunting, McCree put his hands in his pockets, waiting for Hanzo to finish. He’d gotten the occasional unintentional glance at Hanzo’s phone and had just enough Japanese under his belt to know Genji was pestering Hanzo for photos as proof Hanzo wasn’t spending his time off in the hotel gym. Hanzo put his phone away and McCree leaned their shoulders together, rested his head against Hanzo’s through the hood. “I miss your face, darlin’,” he said. 

Hanzo signed through his nose. He glanced once down the street, then pulled his hood back and leveled McCree with an irritated look. “Satisfied?”

“No,” McCree replied. He pushed the strands of Hanzo’s dark hair behind his ear, then trailed his fingertips down Hanzo’s scruffy jaw. “Satisfied means I’m done, and I don’t ever wanna be done with you." 

Hanzo’s face softened. People who’d met Hanzo usually thought he was cold, didn’t show much in the way of expression other than anger and superiority. Truth was, Hanzo’s happier expressions weren’t as loud, didn’t last as long, but they were there if you knew what to look for. The faint pull at the corners of his mouth, the crinkle of a smile around his eyes. Hanzo was getting more forward with it as time went on, but McCree didn’t take offense to the slow-going. Unlearning how to be a wrathful family figurehead wasn’t a cakewalk.

The wind picked up, raining leaves down on them. McCree pulled a red leaf from Hanzo’s hair. "I know you like your blues, but I gotta say you’d look fine in red, too." 

Hanzo opened his mouth, then closed it again with a huff. He gripped McCree by the shirt and pulled him down. "Stop that,” he said, pushing their foreheads together.

McCree grinned. “Stop what?” He wrapped his arms around Hanzo’s back and pulled him closer. “Flirtin’ with you? 'Cause I got news for you, darlin’. This is a 24-hour flirting zone.”

“Dreadful,” Hanzo muttered and pressed his lips to McCree’s, forcing him to tilt his head. McCree’s arms tightened out of reflex. He wasn’t used to Hanzo going full bore in public, but damn, he could get used to it. Pulling back, McCree sucked in a breath, wheezing out, “Jesus, don’t forget we need to breathe, Han.”

“You have a nose. Use it,” Hanzo replied, bringing their mouths together again. 

McCree couldn’t tell how long they stayed like that. Might’ve been minutes, hours. The Rapture could’ve come and gone and he wouldn’t have noticed. His hands were sliding lower. He wanted to hook his hands under Hanzo’s knees, lift him up and put Hanzo against a tree and take all that heat right down his throat.

Hanzo pulled away this time, lips red like the leaves. “Hotel,” he said. “Now.”


	4. ER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On-the-run Hanzo shows up in the ER with a bullet wound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this riffing off of a reply Kerfluffle sent to an anon on tumblr: https://corvidfightclub.tumblr.com/post/178998586570/so-i-went-to-the-er-the-other-day-im-fine-btw

The nurse attending him raised a brow. “Well, I guess you’re talented. This way, please,” she said, pressing a gloved hand over his where he covered his shoulder, yelling GSW. The bright corridor of the hospital began to tilt to one side, his vision haloed by gray. The adrenaline was gone. Every wound screamed. Every step felt as though his feet were slipping out from under him. 

A gurney appeared and he was ushered onto it. Lights flashed by, faces blurred. Words were said but he wasn’t able to parse them. 

“Exit wound?”

“No, it’s in there, alright. Like that fucking gopher in my front garden.”

“Shhh he’s still conscious.”

“I don’t think he minds.”

“That’s the shock setting in.”

-

Hanzo didn’t remember closing his eyes, didn’t remember dreaming, but he came-to in a bed. Machines beeped. His hand itched and when he raised it to look at it, he saw the IV. Through the haze, a warning was screaming in the back of his head as he stared at it. 

Hospital. 

Hospitals meant police.

Sitting up was futile. Not with the hollow ache in his chest and shoulder, nor, he found, with the handcuffs fastening him to the bed railing. 

The curtain was pushed aside and a nurse entered, her scrubs a dark blue with small yellow ducks on them. She gave him a big smile. “Glad to see you’re awake!” Grabbing the chart from the bottom of his bed, she went to the machines and started making notes.

A dark shape had filled the doorway behind her, leaning against the frame, thumbs hooked in his belt. The man in black gave a small tip of his hat.

At his hip was the gun he’d shot Hanzo with.


	5. Sweet Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo is bad with feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt from Joke!

Hanzo woke to the sound of gulls outside the dormitory and fumbled for his phone on the nightstand. Eight-thirty. He pushed himself up into sitting, gathered and retied his hair back. Sleeping this late was unheard of. He heard the water running in the shower and squinted, trying to remember–he tasted alcohol in his mouth, cheap and American. A small army of beer bottles lay on the floor next to his shirt. The smell found its way to him and the night before came back in a wave.

They had been celebrating in the warm Gibraltar night around a bonfire. The mission was beyond a success. No casualties, no injuries, new valuable intel on Talon. McCree bringing him a beer, sitting close and warm like a second bonfire, brushing against him, his smile bright and secretive as a half-moon in the dark.

Hanzo had always kept his distance. It was necessary for this group to function as a unit. His past was an open secret that needed no discussion, no belaboring, so long as he fulfilled his role. He saw no reason to be intimate with anyone. And while he saw the need for a certain friendliness, he made no friends. Friendship was a connection made out of mutual need. Hanzo needed nothing. He had lived with nothing, survived on nothing, became nothing for a time.

At times he stared at the bare walls of his room at Watchpoint, the clean, precise lines of his made bed, the folds of clothing nestled in the dresser, and wondered if he had let any of the team close then they would find exactly that; nothing.

And yet Jesse had sat with him, complimented him in small ways that somehow meant more, gave Hanzo his undivided attention like a gentle gift instead of an uncomfortable burden. Hanzo didn’t remember what they talked about, though it was often laughing at their team mates drunken antics. Lucio made the mistake of letting Lena try his skates.

McCree had put an arm around his back and Hanzo had felt warm.

Two beers gone and McCree had gotten up for “a walk and a smoke”. Hanzo had followed, emboldened.

“I’ll try an’ stay downwind,” McCree had said, cupping his hand and lighting his cigarillo.

“I do not mind,” Hanzo had replied.

They had walked close and quiet, each at home in the night and silence.

“Hey, uh.” McCree had paused. Then he’d dropped his cigarillo and ground it out in the sandy earth. He’d cleared his throat, tipped his hat back on his head. “I’d like to kiss ya, if that’s alright with you.”

“Hm.” Hanzo had looked at the cowboy in his plain shirt, hat, and jeans. Even in the darkness McCree’s nervousness was palpable in his posture, the minute ticking of a muscle in his jaw. Hanzo had tipped his chin up. A challenge. “I’ll allow it,” he’d said.

McCree had tasted like beer and tobacco. His kiss had been firm but surprisingly restrained.

Hanzo had crossed his arms, smoothing his goatee with one hand. “Your form is solid but you must deepen your angle.”

McCree’s jaw had dropped. A scoff had followed. “Are you sassin’ me right now?”

“Iie,” Hanzo had answered with a wave of his hand. “I am suggesting how you can improve if your aim is for me to desire more kisses from you.”

To his credit, McCree had caught on quickly. Slumping, McCree asked, “Aw hell, do you think I’m a lost cause?”

Hanzo had paused long enough to play at mulling it over. “What finesse you lack can be overcome with extensive training,” he had answered.

“When do we start?”

“Immediately.”

“My dojo or yours?”

Hanzo had smiled. “Mine.”

McCree had proved a quick study. Not long after they’d reached Hanzo’s bed, clothing began falling away, their mouths busy and hands roving. They’d rutted against each other in the dark like young animals.

The white sound of water running ceased. He could hear McCree singing in a low voice as he stepped from the shower.

Hanzo had no illusions. McCree was going to dress himself and leave. That was the script for these interactions. He had been through it before, both as the one leaving and the one being left. Yet the thought of being alone to go about his morning in his room with its bare walls, something in him curled tight and balked at the suggestion.

The bathroom door opened and Hanzo’s heart jumped to his throat.

McCree walked out with a towel tucked around his hips, rubbing his hair dry with another. “Mornin’. Hope I didn’t wake you. I’m an early bird.” He walked to where his clothing sat in a pile atop the dresser.

He’s seen your emptiness. He is running. Hanzo tried looking away, turning his mind elsewhere. Let him go. You knew this would be the result. Get on with your life.

Instead his mind frantically ticked through his options for something, anything, to entice McCree to linger. Hanzo found himself rising to his feet, walking to McCree, despite the howling in his head. You pathetic wretch.

“Do you have an early briefing?” Hanzo asked.

McCree looked at him, “Ah–no.” His gaze went lower, over Hanzo’s lips to his collarbones, down his chest, lower. McCree’s pupils widened. “No.”

Hanzo grabbed a slow fistfull of the towel around McCree’s hips and pulled him back to the bed, sitting when his calves met the mattress. McCree followed him as Hanzo moved further back on the mattress and McCree crawled over him, pushing their mouths together. Hanzo tugged the towel from McCree’s hips and grabbed a handful of his ass, grinding up against his weight. The words remained trapped in his mouth until McCree dove to bite his neck and then they flew from him like birds.

“Fuck me.”

While McCree fumbled in the nightstand for lubrication, Hanzo lay back, knees arched and trying to calm his thundering heart. This had been something he’d feared McCree would’ve ask for the night previous. Laying under another man, penetrated that way, was something Hanzo failed to see as anything but compromising. Winning, ruling, was not done from the flat of one’s back. It was a lesson he’d carried since he was a young boy with his feet swept from under him on the hard dojo floor. Unacceptable.

McCree was kissing his stomach, smoothing his big hands down the insides of Hanzo’s thighs. “Ever done this before?”

“Yes,” Hanzo said. McCree moved away to slick the fingers of his hand and Hanzo gripped his cock, began stroking himself and closed his eyes.

“Tell me if it hurts,” McCree murmured into his lips.

Fingers pressed against his ass, circled around it. His cock twitched in his fist when the fingers pressed into him a knuckle at a time. He buried his free hand in McCree’s hair as they kissed, pulling a moan from the cowboy. The fingers left him, replaced with the blunt head of McCree’s cock, then more. He bit McCree’s lip with a sharp inhale.

“You okay, darlin’?”

Hanzo hooked his heels at the small of McCree’s back and gripped McCree’s jaw. “Stop talking,” Hanzo growled, swallowing he rest of McCree’s words with his tongue, biting them off with his teeth, smothering them with his lips.

McCree gripped his wrist and forced Hanzo’s hand off his jaw, pinning it to the mattress beside Hanzo’s head as his hips started thrusting. Hanzo lost himself in the sensations, treading a thin line of pleasure and a panic buried deep in his gut. He opened his eyes once and wished he hadn’t.

McCree had cupped his face and was looking down at him, his hazel eyes soft, lips flushed and parted. All the rough edges of his face had smoothed somehow, become something other, something secret. Hanzo averted his gaze, watching some spot on McCree’s shoulder instead, but he couldn’t shake the memory, the feeling he’d seen something private he shouldn’t have through a door left open. He could still feel those eyes watching him. Pitying him. Believing gentle things about him.

Hanzo grunted. “Over,” he demanded, dropping his legs from McCree’s back.

McCree pulled away, panting, “Okay?” He ran his hands carefully over Hanzo’s skin as Hanzo turned onto his stomach and settled. Draped over him, McCree kissed his shoulder, petting his side. “You okay, or–”

“Yes,” Hanzo said, biting back the sharpness in his voice. He looked coyly at McCree over the swell of his shoulder and pressed back against McCree’s erection. “This angle is better.”

McCree gave him a relieved smile and lay over him, kissed Hanzo’s ear and rested a hand on his hip. Hanzo dug his fingers into the top sheet as McCree filled him again, nudging his knees wider. His rhythm went sharp and heavy, drawing sounds out of Hanzo that he muffled into the mattress until McCree urged him up with a hand under his chin.

“I wanna hear you.”

Hanzo came with a gasp, McCree riding him through his orgasm and finishing shortly after, slumping to one side.

“Y'know,” McCree panted, “I was gonna invite you to breakfast before we sparred but this works. This works.”


End file.
